Of course, they were terrifying. Of course, they were devastating. They were my Fallen Gods, the literal embodiments of ancient, ruined divinity—they were designed to be "crazy."
I watched the smoke clear from the horizon, the silence that followed the destruction of the Star Weapon ringing in my ears like a victory bell. "I think the angels won't be bothering us for a good amount of time," I said, my voice cutting through the stillness.
I turned slowly toward Wryly, who was standing on the deck of my chariot with a look of slack-jawed wonder. "So, brother Wryly, isn't it about time you went down there and vented some of those fumes of yours?"
"Oh, I just..." Wryly stammered, his eyes darting back to the scorched earth where the celestial weapon had once hovered.
He was startled, clearly still absorbed in the spectacle he had just witnessed. He looked at me with a thirst for knowledge, his mind likely racing with a thousand questions about how I had summoned such power.
